


Sweeten The Deal

by Synthetic_Soul



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bendoverwatch, Consensual Somnophilia, Drink Spiking, Implied dubcon, Kinktober 2018 day 7 prompt: Aphrodisiacs, Kinkweek 2019, M/M, Monzen, Zendatta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-07-27 17:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synthetic_Soul/pseuds/Synthetic_Soul
Summary: Written for Kinktober 2018's day 7 prompt.Warnings: Monzen/Zendatta,  Aphrodisiacs, drink spiking, slight consensual dubcon themes, mentions of solo. Human!Zenyatta, Human!Mondatta, Oni!Genji.Art at the end <3





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

 _“No_ , absolutely not.”

 

The young monk’s voice permeated the air like a hot knife through butter, his distaste for the proposal steely and adamant.

The oni, one that Zenyatta had learned went by the name of Genji, sniffed derisively.

 

“I have seen the way you look at him, Zenyatta. I can taste the lust that seeps from every single pore.”  Stretching, languidly, the demon leaned back in the simple chair, draping himself in an alluring posture, horizontal to the seat’s frontward facing portion and issued an all too tantalized-sounding sigh. _“Delicious.”_

Zenyatta scowled, unimpressed, the heat of his blush creeping slowly up his neck to tease at his cheeks. Seven weeks and he had been unable to rid himself of this lascivious creature; a creature that had become unusually attached to he, a mere mortal who would better serve the oni as an appetizer than a source of entertainment.

“You only see what you want to.” He retorted, resuming what was supposed to be his quiet contemplation.

 

  
And for seven weeks Genji had hounded him, stalking his person through the shadows, waiting for the most opportune moments to break cover and fill Zenyatta’s head with the most unholy of imaginings. Whispers that carried with them an overwhelming power that was not of this world, that picked at the hems of his self control to leave him burning with a need he had never thought possible. Yet rather than allow Zenyatta to act upon that need, at the crucial moment, the oni would vanish, only to begin this demented game of false promises at the next possible interval.

All that had come to a head most recently after an awkward little incident - in the monastery sanctum of all places! - There, where the warmth of the Iris was its most extrusive Genji had been able to roam freely, where Zenyatta had foolishly believed himself to be safest.  
Upon soft mediation mats he and his mentor, Mondatta, had been seated full lotus, emptying their minds of all thoughts, feelings and sensations, a truly freeing act of mindfulness that would strengthen and invigorate once they returned to the fore. Yet as the younger monk let his thoughts begin to slip away, opened himself to the welcoming embrace of the Iris, it began.

A trickle of thought, the flash of an image, the loving way in which Mondatta spared his student a glance, that look of adoration and pride that always made Zenyatta’s heart skip a beat. It was that exact sight that he liked to recall, often, in the privacy of his own room. And with it the praise, a good word here and there, the warmth of the other’s hand squeezing his shoulder. He loved Mondatta, Zenyatta had realized a long time ago, and not just in the ways one might love a friend or sibling. His wants, no, his needs, ran far deeper than that.

Just like that, a deluge widened that trickle, transforming the stream into a surging river, his empty mind a vessel to be filled with things so luridly intoxicating, the young monk was overcome.

Warm, gentle, touches became harsher, more demanding and urgent. The words Mondatta uttered to him, far filthier than the likes of what he could have imagined the man to say in his entire lifetime, fed to him one by one like the sweetest and most addictive of fruits. This wasn’t natural, the heat that filled then spread from Zenyatta’s core to lance through his limbs, searing his body until he felt as though he might explode if he did not act.

Meditation, it appeared, had eluded him, and sprung from the trap of his innermost musings, he snapped to attention right there on the sanctum floor, to come face to face with the smug expression of the oni’s features grinning back at him.

The experience, while jarring, had brought to light some interesting notions. Zenyatta had been all too ready to write the thoughts off as little more than whisperings his personal ‘curse’ had been contendedly feeding him as a method to further prolong his torture. Because that was what this was, wasn’t it: A means to an end. An oni playing with its food.

Ready, though he might have been, Zenyatta knew that behind those thoughts there was a kernel of truth, a seed so deeply buried he would not have suspected it’s presence before it had begun to germinate, fuelled by the salacious images and fantasies planted there to fertilize and cultivate. There was no smoke without fire.

 

And now here Genji sat once again, brazen and filled with hubris, the amber vial he held between clawed thumb and forefinger tilting it from side to side. Inside the iridescent liquid sloshed lazily, it’s viscosity slightly more dense than water, mesmerizing to the untrained eye and perhaps that was with intent.

Just a drop, Genji had told him, voice crooning towards Zenyatta, and the recipient would find themselves awash with need so acrid, that all inhibitions would seem like mere specs on the horizon in comparison.

 

“Unfortunately that is rather untrue. What I wish to see is for you to cease your stalling.” A little wave of the amber vial, a poignant reminder of what Genji was offering. “A little courage never hurt anyone.”

 

“I don’t need your ‘help’.” Zenyatta bit back, perhaps a little too sharply, because he could see the corner’s of the oni’s mouth twitch once, twice.

 

“Then you mean to tell Mondatta about those long nights spent moaning his name into the pillows?”

Genji watched as Zenyatta’s shoulders bunched delightfully, tension betraying his irritance and embarrassment both. Oh yes, he had been watching that tempting little show. No inhibitions blocked the young monk’s thoughts then, nor the lazy cant of his hips, rolling in a steady rhythm into the cool, white, sheets. Moonlight from the window had illuminated the scene, it’s cold pale light lighting up the faintest glint of moisture upon the very tip of Zenyatta’s achingly hard cock. But Genji had kept to the shadows and, for once, silenced the whispers he could have used to perpetuate the scene. That had been all Zenyatta, an image he would take back to the spirit realm with him when he’d drunk his fill. But there was one far more attractive prospect he believed he could bring to fruition, if Zenyatta, here, would only accept his ‘selfless’ help.

“How do you - ?” As if the monk had to ask, how did Genji manage to haunt his every step as it was? It stood to reason he would have witnessed this and more, unbidden.  
“I will tell him how I feel. It’s only fair.” He said. “I will tell him later, after the evening call to meditation.”

The oni sat bolt upright, kicking off the armrest of the simple chair like he’d just received the greatest news. Dexterously twirling the vial between his long fingers, he pocketed it again, decision made. Splendid.  
And as quickly as the monk could blink, Genji was gone.

 

 

*****

The oni was under no illusions. Just as before, Zenyatta would abandon his intentions and remain mute to the edging desires that plagued the small hours of his evening. He would, also as usual, sit with his mentor and have their evening tea, a chance to unwind and contemplate the following day’s work or lessons. Mondatta would wax lyrical about the world at large, how best to bring their message of peace to others, and Zenyatta would sit by, dutiful and obedient, offering his opinions thusly.

How utterly _boring_.

Upon the table sat the piping hot tea. It’s handleless cup, contents left to cool and vent steam while Mondatta waited for Zenyatta to finish fetching a spare from the adjacent room. The former had made Zenyatta his cup in his stead, knowing it’s recipient would be back in a moment, long enough for him to fetch that itinerary of his next trip - he did hope that Zenyatta would like to come along, he’d been unusually stressed these last few weeks and a change might do him good.  
  
Genji watched, keen eyes invisible, from the shadows as Mondatta padded around the room, picking up various items and scripts he meant to deposit on the table for inspection later, leaving Zenyatta’s tea unguarded. He needed only a moment with which to strike, and could remain unseen for just long enough to do what he’d planned all along. He’d get his way, Genji always did and no small-minded monk was going to stand in his way. He’d get his way, and Zenyatta would get his.

  
Poignantly fingering the vial, still held tightly in one hand, the oni had become tired of waiting for his opportunity.

A flick of the wrist sent something in the far corner of the room clattering to the ground, loud and brash enough that the older monk whirled on one foot, the hems of his Kasaya swirling about his ankles, to see the antique singing bowl hit the floor from the shelf above. Naturally puzzled, he walked towards it to recover it. The perfect opportunity.

From the shadows he sprung, soundlessly gliding across the floor, thumb already working at wriggling the vial’s cork plug free. Succeeding, and in a single, gracefully-fluid movement, he poured the entire contents of the glass tube into the tea vessel below.  
There was no time to stir or disguise, but he would not need to, it’s slightly heavier formula would make it sink fast, diffusing it’s contents sip by sip and by that time, it would be far too late for Zenyatta.

Slipping back into the shadows, he heard the footfalls of the returning monk, that deceitful little wretch who sought to short change him, knowing not what awaited him when he returned. All eyes were on that door, waiting, with baited breath, the pulse of anticipation thudding in his point-tipped ears.

  
But, as Zenyatta appeared, something was awry.

Between his hands he carried another small, bowl-like, cup, steam drifting up from its interior, which he sipped at prior to affording his master a slight dip of the head in greeting.  
Mondatta turned back to face his student, having replaced the singing bowl back in its rightful place.

 

  
“Ah, I see you found some tea. You won’t mind if I drink this one?” A casual nod to the cup still resting upon the table.

Zenyatta shook his head, no.

 

“Master Fon made me some, I thought it would save time.”

 

The older Monk nodded, sagely, slipping a hand around the remaining cup and picking it up to take a long, soothing sip of his own. With the other, he gestured to the itinerary he’d placed down before.

  
  
“I have something I would like to ask you, Zenyatta. And I do hope you will accept.” Mondatta began, watching as the puzzlement in his student’s eyes turned to something akin to hopeful excitement. This was promising.

 

He took another sip, noting how Zenyatta preferred the sweeter tasting tea compared to how he liked his own. Different, but certainly not unpleasant and with an aftertaste that reminded him, faintly, of oranges. It was certainly moreish. He would have to ask his student where he had acquired it, but that could wait for now.

 

“I am all ears, Master.”

 

Zenyatta leaned forward in the seat he had since settled in, and Mondatta felt a flush of warmth pool inside his belly.  
Oh he liked it when Zenyatta called him that...

Perhaps a little more than he should.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People asked so here it is! I thought it would be good to tie it in with Bendoverwatch's kink week 2019. It begins an hour or two after the last chapter. Enjoy!

 

It was impossibly warm for the time of night, it was  _ stifling _ . 

 

Mondatta’s wandering eyes stared down the open window, desperate to discover the cause,  it’s shutters blown wide and the crisp chill of the mountain air teased at the fringes of tethered prayer flags tied, neatly, to a nail in the framework. 

 

No answers to be found there, then. 

 

This heat, that had crept upon him over the course of the evening, was as tenacious as any fever, but bore none of the symptoms of malady. Moreover, nothing could be done to satiate nor dampen it’s tenacity, nor could he begin to think of a source. It had simply crept up on him as the minutes flew by.   
Sipping at the last of his tea had provided no respite, it was a thirst he could not quench in such a way and there was, Mondatta noted, a dangerous familiarity to the kinds of reactions his body, mind and soul echoed back at him whenever he dared to think about the ways in which he might satiate its needs. 

 

Because it  _ was _ a need, unnaturally strong, complex or otherwise. A baser desire that he, of all who dwelt within these walls, should have quelled quite easily. He was above this, after all, was he not?

  
  


A soft sighing breath beside him stirred the roiling heat within and, unbidden, those dark eyes flitted back to the lithe figure of a man stretched out upon the cushions, all tone and grace, even when sprawling. Mondatta’s student cut the perfect impression of peaceful nature at rest.    
Zenyatta had, as he often did, fallen asleep towards the tail end of their discussions, the day’s exertions and chores finally catching up with him. 

At any other time, Mondatta would have found it endearing, a rare moment of ultimate trust and an honour of sorts. 

Now was another matter entirely: It was the heat. Even now it was trying to wrestle the last shreds of control from his tightly-grasping hands, but even he could not say that he had not once looked at Zenyatta and wondered…

 

Wondered what it would be like to hold him, run his hands across that broad expanse of smooth skin upon his chest, explore that lean frame with his hands, his lips. Images, especially now, played out in slow motion inside Mondatta’s harried head, wherein he would kiss a hot path from shoulder along to the nape of his student’s neck, nuzzling in and delighting in the warmth of such a tender action. 

 

But it could never be. He had a duty of care to this man as his guide, his mentor. To have taken advantage in such a way would be more than immoral. It was unspeakable.

The heat did not concur. Instead, it battled him, surging against his self restraint with thoughts of their bodies pressed together, hot and heavy, Zenyatta moving against him with urgency enough it left no doubt about his wants or desires. 

 

Mondatta was losing that fight, he could feel his propensity for the man beside him swell his cock, the organ resting thick and hard against his thigh, uncomfortable and neglected. He dare not reach to adjust himself, the compulsion to do more than make himself more comfortable would be blamed on this sudden feverish state, too, but that simply wasn’t the case and the older monk knew that these desires would not have manifested themselves in such a way were he not fond of Zenyatta in ways he should never have considered.

 

\--

 

From the shadows of the too-still room, the oni watched them. Drinking in the delicious waves of lust that rolled, thickly, off the weakening human was but the appetizer, fuel for the hunger he’d waited far too long to sate.    
Genji had initially considered this latest endeavour of his to be a failure when Mondatta had chosen to drink the spiked tea instead of his student. Zenyatta had been his intended target, a meal to tide him over until the next best thing came along. Yet if he was to be trapped in this realm for a while, why should he not have a little fun while he idled? An entity had to eat.

  
Corruptible, innocent and one who had taken vows he’d never seek to break, Zenyatta was the perfect plaything at face value, a true challenge for the potency of his will. And in any case, he’d come to learn, delving deep into the fissures of the monk’s strangely fluid thoughts, that he was not as innocent as Genji had first assumed. 

 

Certainly, during the waking hours he was picture definition of studious and dutiful, were it not for the first inklings of a crack in an otherwise flawless facade.    
It began with a look, the way Zenyatta’s eyes would linger upon his master as he left the room, sat across the mediation hall or whenever he would pass by. That look might have seemed innocuous to those around him, but Genji could feel it, _ smell it, _ the want.  It had taken no further hesitations for the oni to enter Zenyatta’s dreams that night, hear the name he called out in his mind while those lurid, sinful, images played over and over, as many times as Genji cared to observe. 

 

What had begun as simply toying with the lust of mortals had turned into a relative banquet. All he need do was fan the flames. 

 

This unforeseen mishap had just paid off in double. So Mondatta lusted after the little whelp in return?  _ Delightful _ . 

  
  


His power on this mortal plain was limited, but thanks to this happy little incident, he had the energy he required to give both men the push they required.    
Slipping beneath the veil he moved towards them with purpose, tail whipping up a crackling static pulse, watching as Mondatta faintly shivered beneath the sudden shift of cool air in his overheated state.    
The oni leaned in towards the older monk, drinking him in. The lust Genji could feel broiling beneath the cracked surface of Mondatta’s control was intoxicating, just begging to be released and he was only too happy to be the one to cut the tether on that honed restraint. 

 

A pity, he thought, that he would get little satisfaction from partaking without causing harm.

 

Reluctantly tearing himself away, he slid over to Zenyatta’s prone form, a broad grin spreading across the oni’s decorated lips as he knelt down beside him, watching the gentle rise and fall of the sleeping man’s chest.    
In the small matter of a breath he was in, saturating the inky fringes of Zenyatta’s dreams as he had done so many times before. Yet, unlike last time, he was not simply an observer. 

 

“Oh, how much he craves you, little Zenyatta.” The Oni crooned sweetly, lips brushing the softness of the monk’s earlobe, “His perfect, shining star. If only you knew all the lurid things he’s done to you in his thoughts.” 

 

Zenyatta stirred, a murmur, the slight squirming of legs against the battered old fabric he lay upon. Genji did not have to look back at Mondatta to know he was watching. 

 

“If only you had kept your word. But no matter, I am here to help.” 

 

Genji’s unseen, luminescent, eyes slid closed and he felt his presence shift within the boundaries between realms. His thoughts became Zenyatta’s thoughts, his limbs, his actions, all of his whims Zenyatta’s too. The younger monk barely fought him for it, virtually handing over control in his exhausted state and it would have been tempting to remain - just for a little while so that he, for once, might sample something first hand. That, he reminded himself, would be counter -productive, his need for food outweighed his desire to scratch any of his personal itches. 

 

_ Just a moment, just enough to make him act, then.  _

 

\-- 

  
  


“Mmnndatta?” 

 

Mondatta’s body froze, but his pulse thumped that little bit louder in his ears remembering that he sat here, cock hard and neglected beneath his robes, debating the wisdom of whether or not he should wake the sleeping man and tell him to leave before he asked him, against all better judgement, to stay.   
Unable to look away, nor find the words to answer what he assumed was Zenyatta’s asking if he was still there, he was floundering. Where else would he be, and why did the very fact he remained here feel like he was doing something unseemly? He fought the urge to choke back on his words, managing little more than a hoarse whisper. 

 

“I’m here.”

  
It was not unseemly enough for his desire to be anything but titillated,  _ tantalized _ even, when the young man beside him said and did the last things the urges deep inside Mondatta needed to witness. 

 

Zenyatta’s arm reached back, hand groping across the old cushions until he felt the warmth of Mondatta’s skin against his fingertips. Lucid, he pulled the older monk’s arm towards him, forcing Mondatta to reposition himself so that he leaned towards his student in order not to fall on top of him completely. 

 

“Stay with me.” The younger man’s voice was distant, addled with the muted softness of sleep, but his words were heard clearly. “Need you, _ mhh _ ...just this once.” 

 

Mondatta felt his cock twitch and strain, brushing the front of his robes enough for the pre, that pearled upon its tip, to begin to soak through the light fabric. Well he couldn’t leave the room like this.

  
It had to be a dream, what Zenyatta was saying, a dream and nothing more, because if it had been true, surely he would have noticed? Yet when Zenyatta began to cant his hips, a lazy, languid, grind against the pillows that left the young man whimpering so softly, Mondatta knew he was fighting a losing battle with his restraint. 

Zenyatta had  _ asked _ for him, would he deny his student when he, himself wanted this above all things?

 

“Zenyatta…I-” 

 

The elder monk found himself cut off by his student’s actions, guiding the hand he had not yet released down to the hot juncture between his legs, forcing Mondatta to fall in line with Zenyatta, dropping to his side in a recline while his student -  _ oh gods he was done for _ \- wriggled back against him. 

  
Fingers shook, hand frozen but for their trembling, whilst Zenyatta felt no compunctions about pressing that palm flush against his growing erection, a shaky, breathy little huff accompanying the brief moment in which the younger monk’s hips gave a little buck in response, momentarily seeming to jolt the man from his deeper state of sleep. 

 

Mondatta paused, afraid of rejection, already tense for the attempt to extricate himself from his student’s grasp when he felt it tighten and Zenyatta simply  _ moaned _ . 

 

The last of Mondatta’s restraint broke under the pressure, uttering a groan of his own while his body surged against the slightly smaller man, hips grinding forth, creating a fissure in the fabric between Zenyatta’s cheeks, the slight silken texture of their robes only facilitating how smooth and fluid those first undulations truly were. But it was his hand that really teased a reaction out of the younger man. 

 

Palming him through his clothing, Zenyatta arched his spine in an almost feline stretch, hips rolling while his head lolled back, exposing his vulnerable neck and bobbing pulse point to Mondatta’s hungry lips. Now ghosting along the dusky column of flesh, ragged exhalations raising the minute hairs there until the older monk found his mark on Zenyatta’s earlobe. 

The heat within him danced and delighted, finally given chance to run rampant, it did not wish to waste a single second, and when Mondatta’s teeth grazed that delicate lobe, tongue soothing away the residual pain from that demanding tug, Zenyatta’s lips parted softly - an open invitation. 

 

One finger, long and elegant, then two, slid slowly across the inviting, spit-slick, warmth of the younger man’s tongue, caressing, exploring, thumb tucked neatly beneath Zenyatta’s chin, holding him in place. The subtle dominance play stroked the younger man’s arousal incessantly, calling to mind all the nights worth of fantasies he’d had in which his master took him whenever and wherever he wished. Zenyatta craved more than simple affection, and in his still-sleepy haze, it only made the decision to submit easier.   
  
The younger monk’s legs parted ever so slightly, hips resuming their lazy cant, inviting Mondatta to explore further and fucking against the draping fabric to no avail.    
There was no need to ask, he’d heard loud and clear, even as Zenyatta felt a sudden surge of energy leave him, the provocative presence inside of him, the one that had planted the seed of fantasy in his mind, suddenly absent, leaving him feeling slightly winded but no less alive with the intensity of the arousal he'd been experiencing. He'd needed that push, he realized, something, anything in order to take the plunge, although for the life of him he could not fathom what had suddenly prompted Mondatta to break down the wall of his own inhibitions.

 

If he'd only known his master had felt this way.

 

Mondatta took his cues like the master he was, fingers slowly withdrawing from the younger's mouth, sliding delicately from between Zenyatta's plump lips to trail shiny slick over the lower one, a shiver of anticipation felt, keenly, against his chest.

They were, the both of them, ripe for this, primed and oh so ready.    
  


Zenyatta felt the searing press of Mondatta's hand against his thigh, fingers splaying, then curling, grasping up a thick wad of the simple fabric and hitching it up. The cool wafts of air from the open window lilted softly across the exposed skin, his cock twitching against the young man's thigh, bobbing in time with the monk's rapid heartbeat.

He turned slightly then, craning his neck to catch a blurry glimpse of his mentor, the object of his lusts for the last goodness knows how many months, gazing intently back at him. It was a lapse in attention Mondatta was only too happy to capitalize upon. Sinful fingers converged across the meaty expanse of taut thigh muscle, delving across to cup at the younger monk’s aching cock, a delightfully deep and resonant moan rumbling in his chest as he witnessed Zenyatta’s hips stutter up, pert ass leaving the surface of the cushions almost entirely. 

 

And wasn’t he so pretty, Zenyatta? Beautiful in his pleasure beyond all words, head tilted back, lolling sleepily while rocking his hips up to gain any scant semblance of friction, so lost in his needs he barely knew how to ask for what he wanted. Zenyatta’s lips moved, attempting to form words, but all that would slip from them would be the kinds of whimpers that made Mondatta grind harder into that plush ass pressed intermittently tightly to his own groin.    


“Do you want this, Zenyatta. Do you ache for it, for me to  _ fuck _ you?” Mondatta's oddly crude, honeyed, words slowly dripped into Zenyatta's consciousness. “If you only knew a fraction of what you do to me.”

 

His deviant hand curled around his student's pulsing cock, affording it a squeeze so firm he could feel the man attempt to fuck into the tight, constricting, channel. Mondatta's thumb responded accordingly, holding Zenyatta firmly while sliding the pad across the pre-slickened slit, tracing lazy, deliberate, circles until Zenyatta squirmed, moans transmuting to a keening, incomprehensible, wail.

 

All of a sudden Mondatta’s lips were on his, silencing that delectable sound and swallowing it whole. Tongue delving between those soft, pliant, lips, it swirled against Zenyatta’s own, coaxing him, teasing him into a far more muted form of expressing his need.    
As much as the cries of elation had pleased the heat within, discovery would put a stop to this before it began, and their brother’s sleep was a light one amid such quiescence.

Drawing back for air, a roguish smirk tugged at his lips when Zenyatta’s face began to follow, seeking more. But he was left wanting with the gentle shake of a head and the soft nuzzle that was plied to his neck. 

 

“Show me, my shining star.” Mondatta whispered, huskily, against his neck. “Just this once, I am yours.”

 

Zenyatta did not waste time on words, there was nothing he could have said that he could not convey in the most carnal of ways. To have spoken it would have left him red faced and stammering.    
This man was his master, his mentor, someone he would have to look in the eye when all was said and done, yet somehow, laying here with him like this, the thought of touching, teasing, being fucked by him, broke down the barriers of any restraint he might have left.    
He wriggled back, reaching around to hastily work up the fabric of Mondatta’s robes, between them,  greeted by the full warmth of the older monk’s hard length pressed flush against the fissure between his cheeks. 

 

Zenyatta’s hand groped blindly, gently seeking it out when his hand lightly brushed the underside of Mondatta’s balls. Such a gentle and accidental caress and Zenyatta noted the shakiness of hot breath ghost across the shell of his ear. Emboldened, Mondatta slid that hand further up, hoping to elicit just as salacious response as he had offered moments earlier, he slid his hand along the base of the shaft, drawing back the foreskin until that slick, sensitive, tip was sandwiched in the burning cleft of Zenyatta’s ass.    
  


As much as he would have loved nothing better than to indulge Zenyatta this way, neither of them were prepared for that. 

  
  
Muffling his sounds of frustration against Zenyatta’s shoulder was the first thing he did, momentarily releasing his hold on his student in order to gently guide his hand away. 

  
  
“Not like this.” He spoke raggedly.

 

Accepting, Zenyatta’s hand withdrew, the younger monk’s attention now fully focused on the steady rhythm he was building up, fucking into the hand that had since resumed it’s sinfully good ministrations. He was too far gone, too far wrapped up in the headiness of it all not to, hips thrusting and rolling into the tunnel created by those elegant, dexterous fingers, which alternated between tighter and far gentler a grip, seemingly on a whim.    
Mondatta’s fingers were slick by now, every pearl of pre leaking down to coat them both a little bit more, the sensually lewd, wet sounds of Zenyatta’s fucking and their gasping, soft, breaths filling the the room.    
  


Yet as he could feel Zenyatta’s pleasure rise, the tight bob and strain of his balls, bunched up at the base of his thick cock, reddened and fit to burst, the heat demanded more of him. Whispers, wicked and prurient, crooned at him from places unseen, taunting him for being so resistant, for not simply  _ taking _ what he wanted right here and now. But he would not harm this man, no matter how much the voice jeered at his weakness.

  
He had said this would be a one time thing, but in the cold light of day, when he and his student stepped out from behind these four walls, could they really live their lives having only had a mere taster of what they could have? Could he ever look upon Zenyatta in the same way again? The chance to show him tenderness beyond what would be a sloppy, frenzied, coupling was too much to pass up. 

 

But for now -    
  
Slipping his cock between the press of Zenyatta’s thighs, Mondatta slowly worked his way up to meeting the same insistent cadence the younger man had built up, the two of them working in tandem, chasing their climax to transcendence if that was what it took.    
  


The world around their little room slipped away, Zenyatta’s face buried in the pillows, muffling his tired, ardour-laced pleas for more, that he was oh-so-close. His cockhead, red and sensitive, glistened in the dim light of the room, popping out from the end of Mondatta’s grasping hand, the flesh of his groin slapping hard against the side, it was a sight the older monk could only half drink in. His own groin burned with the pressure, muscles screaming at him to let go, pitch over the edge into ecstasy when he felt the man beside him buck wildly.    
Harsh, uneducated, thrusts, Zenyatta’s hips stuttered into his mentor’s hand haphazardly, thick, gleaming spurts of spend arcing to spatter his belly and the cushions they lay on. The rest was a pulsing dribble, coating the other man’s hand thickly as Zenyatta sobbed his elation into the pillows, shivering and overwrought with hypersensitivity.

 

The younger monk tensed spasmodically, the motion providing a tight, slick, grind against the cock still nestled between his thighs.    
Soft, smooth, fingers grasped his hips, then, steadying him, a delicious contradiction to the assertive slap of their bodies connecting. Mondatta, knew he’d leave fingerprint bruises, driving himself to that desired end, when Zenyatta appeared to come-to, his soft, muted mewls replaced by sure hands over those of his mentor’s, holding him there, the silent encouragement and permission given in the arching of his spine, ass pushed back, flush against the older man, helping him rut in pure abandon between Zenyatta’s legs. 

 

And just like that the last tether snapped, a deluge of pleasure reached its apex, surging forward in hot, uncontrollable ropes of viscosity while Mondatta buried his face against the younger Monk’s neck, teeth grazing the vulnerable flesh when epithet after ecstatic epithet poured from his tongue.    
For those last, satisfying, moments, the heat within him was content, purring at the back of his thoughts loud enough to drown out the ringing in his ears. 

 

Breathing deep, Mondatta attempted to steady his rapid heartbeat, luxuriating in the softness of the afterglow, in the minute little things that made this as heavenly as it was. Zenyatta was no longer still against him, having shifted to turn, ever so slightly, allowing Mondatta’s cock to slip free, in order to gain a better look at the man he never thought he would hold in such a capacity.    
For those first, tentative, moments, there was nothing they could say to each other that had not already been stated in action. Caught in the light of each other’s gazes, arms loosely wrapped around the other, questioning why this had happened never so much as entered their heads. 

 

It simply was, and they merely wanted to _ be _ , to enjoy this a while longer before the sun rose over the mountain peaks and the call to meditation would mean they must slip back into their everyday personas of master and student, devout and devotee. 

 

\--

 

Watching from the darkest corners of the room, the oni purred, sated for the time being. He had underestimated the older monk’s resilience to the concoction he’d given him, his self control lapsing far later than he supposed it would have, had the intended target drunk the mixture instead. 

But what a result! And later, when he would congratulate Zenyatta on providing him with an unexpectedly satiating meal, he could propose a banquet. 

 

Having had a taste of what could be, what self respecting, deviant, monk could say no to that? And if he did...

 

A claw-tipped finger tapped the half-full vial of amber liquid, pensively. -

 

There was more than one way to make certain Genji got his way.

 


End file.
